Iris Goodliffe had spent over an hour in front of the mirror, making constant mistakes and repeatedly chiding herself for being so inexperienced in the use of cosmetics. When she’d finally finished her make-up, she turned to the next problem. What should she wear? Though her wardrobe was limited, she felt that she had to put on a different dress from the one she’d worn the night before. Trying everything on in turn, she paraded in front of the mirror. Iris then reminded herself that Douglas Beckett had taken an interest in her when she was wearing an unattractive police uniform. What she had on was not that important to him. His focus was on her personality.
On the previous night, she’d been kept waiting. Beckett was already there this time, standing on the corner where they’d agreed to meet. He raised his hat politely and gave her a toothy smile. Iris beamed.
‘You look wonderful,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Doug.’
‘But, then, you always look wonderful to me.’
Iris simpered. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Well, I thought we’d start off with a walk. It’s such a beautiful evening and the park is only five minutes away. We can work up an appetite for a meal. Does that suit you, Iris?’
‘Yes, it does.’
‘Then let’s go.’
He offered his arm and Iris took it, her whole body suffused with a warm glow. As they headed for the park, she didn’t hear the rumble of traffic or feel the pavement slabs under her feet. With the sound of church bells in her ears, she was walking down the aisle with her husband.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Though he’d turned up unexpectedly, Keedy was given a welcome at Club Apollo. Saul Rockwell shook his hand warmly and asked how the investigation was going.
‘It’s too soon to say,’ replied Keedy.
‘The members are all hoping for an early arrest. They talk of nothing else.’
‘Mr Donohoe’s death must have rocked them.’
‘This is a small, well-knit club, Sergeant. When one of its founders is killed, it sends jitters through the whole lot of us.’
‘You don’t look like a man who suffers from jitters.’
Rockwell grinned. ‘I’m an exception to the rule.’
‘Working as a steward must be a huge change from being in the navy.’
‘There are pluses and minuses.’
‘What’s the biggest bonus of being here?’
‘I get to see my wife a lot more often,’ said Rockwell. ‘Navy wives have to put up with the fact that their husbands are at sea for months on end. Only a very special woman will accept that. My wife decided she wasn’t one of them – though she’s very special in other ways, of course.’
‘Has she ever been here?’
‘No, it’s not a place for her.’
‘Doesn’t she like music?’
‘Not that kind of music. What about the future Mrs Keedy? Does she like string quartets?’
‘We never go to concerts,’ said the other. ‘In fact, when I’m involved in a case like this, we never go anywhere.’
‘That must be hard on her.’
‘It’s hard on me as well.’
There was a rueful note in his voice. Instead of visiting the Club Apollo, he’d have preferred to be spending time with Alice, trying to resolve their differences. If it ever came, their reconciliation would have to wait. Before he could question the steward further, he saw Jonathan Ulverton swooping down on him.
‘Good evening, Sergeant,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘Am I foolish to hope that you’ve come bearing good tidings?’
‘I’m afraid that you are,’ said Keedy, shaking his hand. ‘Since it featured so much in Mr Donohoe’s life, Inspector Marmion felt that we should know a little more about Club Apollo.’
‘And he’s quite right.’ He turned to Rockwell. ‘Thank you, Saul – I’ll look after the sergeant now.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said the steward, melting away.
‘He’s a chirpy character, isn’t he?’ observed Keedy.
‘This place would fall to pieces without Saul Rockwell.’
‘Is he that important to you?’
‘He’s irreplaceable,’ said Ulverton. ‘Now, then, what can we show you? I’d love you to join me for a meal in the restaurant but it’s strictly for members only and, in any case, I expect that you’re forbidden to indulge yourself when on duty.’
‘If I did, the superintendent would flay me alive.’
‘Then let me introduce you to the real luminaries of the Club Apollo – the Malvern Quartet. Before long, you’ll be able to hear them in action. They’re going to give us a taste of Boccherini, I believe. Do you like classical music?’
‘I can’t say that I do.’
‘You may change your mind when you meet them – especially Miss Haddon.’
‘Why is that, Mr Ulverton?’
‘You’ll see.’
After handling another lively press conference, Claude Chatfield made his way to Marmion’s office. Glad to find the inspector there, he sank into a seat opposite him.
‘How did it go, sir?’ asked Marmion.
‘It was like a bear pit in there. Where do newspapers get people like that? It was like being in front of the Spanish Inquisition.’
‘The public has a right to be informed.’
‘And we have a right to tailor information carefully.’
‘I agree, sir. It’s vital. The killer will read tomorrow’s papers. We must keep him guessing as to how much we know.’
‘Quite so,’ said Chatfield. ‘No word from Thomas Day, I suppose?’
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘He won’t ring.’
‘I still believe that he might,’ said Marmion with a weary smile. ‘And if he doesn’t, it simply means that he hasn’t been in touch with his secretary yet.’
‘What’s the sergeant doing?’
‘I sent him back to Club Apollo.’
‘Good idea – we need to find out a lot more about that place.’
‘The only way we can do that properly is to become a member.’
‘Well, don’t look at me,’ said Chatfield, huffily. ‘I can’t afford those exorbitant fees and I’d much rather spend time with Mrs Chatfield than with a group of men whose twin aims in life are to eat heartily and listen to classical music.’
‘I feel the same about the place, sir.’
Chatfield eyed him shrewdly. ‘Are you all right, Inspector?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘You look as if you’re preoccupied with something.’
‘This case is proving to be a real test for us.’
‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’
‘Yes,’ conceded Marmion, ‘there is. We’ve had some news about our son.’
He told Chatfield about the letter from a Warwickshire farm and how it had lifted their spirits. The only way that the farmer could have known his home address was that Paul was carrying some sort of identification with him. It was a hopeful sign. He hadn’t entirely written off his family. While he listened sympathetically, the superintendent made one thing clear.
‘I hope you’re not going to ask for more leave,’ he said, warningly.
‘There’s no question of that.’
‘Good.’
‘Somebody else will have to go. It looks as if it will have to be my wife.’
‘What about your daughter?’
‘Alice doesn’t believe she’d get permission from Inspector Gale.’
‘Has she asked her?’
‘There’s not much point in doing so, sir. The inspector has a reputation.’
‘And it’s a good one, from what I’ve heard,’ said Chatfield. ‘I can’t believe that she’s that hard-hearted. Look, it’s very presumptuous of me but would you like me to have a word with Inspector Gale?’
Marmion was surprised. ‘Would you really do that, sir?’
‘If it would help, I’ll do it gladly.’
‘Thank you – than
k you very much.’
‘There’s no guarantee that I’ll get the desired result, of course, but one can but ask. I’m sure that Mrs Marmion would much rather go to Warwickshire with someone else. She’ll have a trained policewoman with her.’
‘That’s true.’
Chatfield got up. ‘I’ll see if Inspector Gale has a home telephone number.’
‘I can’t tell you how grateful we’d be, sir.’
‘You son is missing. He needs to be found.’
Without another word, the superintendent went out of the office, leaving Marmion to realise yet again that Chatfield, for all his well-known defects, did have hidden reserves of kindness. He felt that it would have been quite wrong to intervene himself on Alice’s behalf. Coming from a senior officer, however, the appeal would have more weight. Even though the Women’s Police Service was a separate entity, Inspector Gale was bound to respect the opinion of a superintendent in the Metropolitan Police Force. On her visit to Warwickshire, it was highly unlikely that Ellen would find their son. Alice’s presence at her elbow would therefore be critical.
Marmion was musing on the possibilities of what they’d discover at the farm when the telephone rang. The noise brought him out of his reverie.
‘Inspector Marmion,’ he said in to the receiver.
‘I was told to get in touch with you.’
‘Who is this, please?’
‘Tom Day.’
Working on the supposition that she’d have to travel alone, Ellen rehearsed what she was going to say when she reached the farm. She relied heavily on Alice’s advice.
‘What if they refuse to speak to me?’ she asked.
‘They have to speak to you, Mummy. You must insist.’
‘I’m not very good at arguing.’
Alice laughed. ‘That’s not what Daddy says.’
‘Don’t listen to him.’
‘You usually get your way in the end. You’re very persuasive.’
‘I’m not cajoling your father this time, Alice. I’m up against someone who may be very angry.’
‘But he’s not angry at you,’ said Alice, ‘only at Paul.’
‘I can’t think why.’
‘There are lots of reasons. If it’s a dairy farm, perhaps Paul left a gate open by mistake and some of the cows got out. Or maybe he damaged something by accident. It may even be something as simple as a row. After the way the army treated him, Paul won’t be pushed around by anybody. That’s the most probable explanation,’ decided Alice. ‘He stood up to the farmer and got himself sacked.’
‘I keep wondering if he did something worse than that.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, he might have stolen something from the farm or had too much to drink and got into a fight.’
‘You can forget the first one, Mummy. If Paul had stolen money, the farmer is unlikely to send two pounds to him through the post. Having too much to drink is more likely. That’s what he did when he first came back home,’ she recalled. ‘You could always smell the beer on his breath. That’s what made him so aggressive.’
‘I know, Alice. I was at the receiving end.’
‘You’ll find out the truth tomorrow.’
‘That’s what worries me,’ said Ellen with a shiver. ‘I’m frightened.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m afraid I’ll discover Paul did something really horrible.’
Forewarned as he had been, Keedy was nevertheless unprepared to meet Dulcie Haddon. She was a dazzlingly pretty young woman in her twenties who seemed wholly unaware of her charms. He’d never met anyone so unselfconscious. The viola player’s large, blue eyes sparkled and she seemed to radiate intelligence. When he joined the musicians in the room set aside for them, Keedy was introduced to each of them in turn. Nigel Haddon, leader of the Malvern Quartet, was a big, adipose, flat-faced man with a goatee beard. Evidently, his daughter had not inherited her good looks from him. Once they’d asked him about the investigation, the men fell to a discussion of the pieces they’d planned to play that evening, allowing Keedy to have a word with Dulcie. She was plainly obsessed with her art.
The quartet relied heavily on Haydn and Mozart, she explained, because they’d written masses of string quartets between them, though never one together. The two Austrian composers were dominant. It was the turn of an Italian master that evening and she talked excitedly about Boccherini’s special qualities. All of it wafted into Keedy’s ears and straight out again like so much smoke. The sheer detail of her musical commentary was bewildering to him. She was talking a foreign language. When it was time for them to start playing, he managed to ask her something that puzzled him. Waiting until the other three musicians had left the room, he touched her arm.
‘Excuse me, Miss Haddon,’ he said. ‘What does it feel like to be the only woman in a building full of men?’
She blenched. ‘I hate it, Sergeant.’
Then she rushed off to catch up with the others.
Marmion couldn’t believe that he was talking on the telephone to a murder suspect. Thomas Day was chatting familiarly to him as if they were old friends. He claimed to be shocked at the death of his rival and pointed out, with a laugh, that there was a time when he thought he’d end up as Donohoe’s son-in-law.
‘His son mentioned that.’
‘Then Adrian will have told you I behaved abominably. That’s what happens when friendship turns to competition. Everything I ever did with regard to that family was suddenly seen in a darker light. The truth of it was,’ he said, confidingly, ‘that I broke off the relationship with Doreen and not the other way around. She was as meek as a lamb and would never have rustled up the courage.’
‘I’m not really interested in that, Mr Day,’ said Marmion. ‘I simply wish to know why you chose to stay at the Devonian Hotel on the very night of the murder.’
‘How was I to know that someone was lying in wait for Gilbert?’
‘Did you speak to him at all?’
‘Of course I didn’t. I had no idea he was under the same roof.’
‘I can’t believe that, sir. You and Mr Donohoe were very close at one time. You must have known it was his favourite hotel.’
‘I did,’ confessed the other, ‘but I had no idea that he was a guest at the same time as me. I never set eyes on him, I swear it.’
‘What made you pick the Devonian?’
‘I didn’t pick it,’ replied Day. ‘The decision was made for me. The man with whom I’ve been negotiating a deal suggested that we meet there before going on to view the property the following day. I can give you his name, if you wish. He’s one of the biggest landowners in Surrey. He’ll vouch for me.’
‘We need to speak to each other properly, Mr Day.’
Day laughed. ‘Isn’t that what we’re doing now?’
‘I like to see the person I’m talking to, sir.’
‘Then you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, I’m afraid. I’ve promised to dine with a friend and his wife tonight. They’ll be very upset if I tell them I’m being hauled off to Scotland Yard because I’m a suspect in a murder enquiry. And don’t worry,’ he added, jovially, ‘you won’t have to block the ports to stop me escaping abroad. I’ll be banging on the door of your office at 9 a.m. tomorrow. Is that good enough for you?’
Marmion reached a quick decision. If Day was involved in the murder, he might not even have bothered to make contact. Yet he had done so and he sounded very plausible. The possibility of his taking flight could easily be dismissed. Day had far too much to lose by doing that. He’d never desert a staff that idolised him.
‘Let’s make it 8 a.m.,’ said Marmion. ‘I like an early start.’
Keedy had long experience of feeling out of place. During an investigation into a murder at a stately home when he was a young constable, he’d tiptoed furtively around as if, at any moment, he was about to be thrown out by the butler. There had also been crimes associated with the other end of the social spectrum, giving him a glimps
e into a world of such squalor and degradation that it had made his stomach heave. No human beings, he always felt, should be forced to live in such inhumane conditions. The Club Apollo made him feel out of place at three levels. The first concerned age. He was too young to be a member. Balding heads and silver manes predominated. They were allied to wealth, the second reason he could never feel at ease there. Keedy could neither afford to join the Apollo nor enjoy a privileged existence where leisure was taken for granted.
Music was the third barrier. Its strange intricacies were quite alien to Keedy. Apart from him and the steward, everyone else in the building knew and loved the concept of a string quartet. While he got pleasure from watching Dulcie Haddon play, he realised that she inhabited a wholly separate world. She fitted seamlessly into a quartet that made the music fill the air with magical precision. While he was strongly attracted to her, he knew that he could never get anywhere near such a woman. Her viola would always be in the way. Besides, he’d already made his choice and – in spite of the tiff with Alice – had no intention of changing it.
Ulverton was an attentive host, answering his questions, introducing him to members of the committee and encouraging him to explore the building at will. A murder had given Keedy rights that cost anyone else a large amount of money.
When it was time for him to leave, Ulverton showed him to the door.
‘What did you think of Dulcie Haddon?’ asked the older man. ‘Isn’t she the most wonderful musician?’
‘Yes,’ said Keedy, savouring the memory of her sparkling eyes.
‘String quartets are so interdependent. Harmony is vital in every sense.’
‘I’m sure that it is.’
‘Dulcie is happy to be working for her father – unlike some people. They find the family connection rather oppressive.’
‘I was one of them.’
‘She’s both a musical and decorative asset.’
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